Holding Pattern
by Phoebsfan
Summary: "There is no in between. There is no redo button. Only the holding pattern which eventually must end. The plane must land or crash. There is no eternal flight. Nothing can take back either consequence. " A story about a plane, a man, a woman, and two ghosts. prequel to All Roads Lead Back To You


_AN: This little ficlet can stand on its own, but actually fits better in its intended spot as a precursor to _**All Roads Lead Back To You**_, which can also be found here. Its been sitting collecting dust for a few years now and it felt like today was a good day to air it out._

* * *

She knows.

It's funny, they have been stuck in this holding pattern for so long that the knowledge is almost a relief. Circling each other with no place to land. Waiting for permission, when she knows all along.

They gather comfort from each other, like a moth to the flame. Like dew on the chill morning air of his heart. Always taking from each other, only giving inadvertently. Cause and effect.

Yes, she knows.

The air is still, the passengers all exhausted from running. Earning each breath. Tooth and nail and every ounce of soul, poured into merely surviving for so long. The sudden stillness is jarring. She can't help but wonder, what next? Half expects the plane to fall from the sky, some cosmic force laughing at their futility.

But it flies straight, not so much as a patch of turbulence to disrupt them.

There is an old sense of... joy? Is it? She's almost forgotten what that tastes like. It bubbles uncomfortably in her stomach, begging for release. She shouldn't want to laugh, not when so many people gave their lives so that she could sit on this plane.

Claire sleeps next to her. All her nerves over leaving the island, exhausting her. She's happy for her friend... really. But the joy starts to leak out of her. She can feel it travel through her fingertips, into the arm rests as she grips them tightly. Can feel all the adrenaline threatening to crash her system as well.

Yes, she supposes she knows that too.

All she can think about are his words.

"Meant to be alone."

She glances over at him, he is staring out the window with a wistful expression. She half expected him to change his mind. To stay on that damned island with his ghosts. She's glad he didn't, that he never gave up. Glad to see in his heart he's still a fighter. His own kind of outlaw.

A sorrowful smile of her own dances across her closed lips. Sealed tight to keep everything from leaking out. Sealed tight to keep everything from leaking in. Sealed tight to... She doesn't know.

What she knows... it's bitter.

So she stands and walks back to him. No words have ever really been necessary between them. So she keeps her silence as she climbs over him and takes the seat next to him.

He doesn't complain. Perhaps he is keeping his words inside as well.

She doesn't know what hers are. He was always better at that.

She puts her hand on top of his on the arm rest. He flicks his wrist, wraps his fingers in hers. She doesn't look at his hand, he doesn't look at hers. They stare out the window and not at each other.

Stealing strength again. Taking what both are too proud to give. Or maybe too damaged. She can't tell anymore. All she knows, is that sometimes she feels like a rag doll. Tossed in someone's dark corner, frayed around the edges, and minutes away from falling apart. Sometimes she feels like the only thing holding her together are the fingers locked in hers.

She knows that when they land, she won't have that anymore.

Perhaps that is why she clings just a little tighter, making sure to take as much from him as she can. It's selfish, and she only hopes that he can benefit from it as well. But even if he doesn't, she can't make herself pull away.

The sad part is, she wants to be that for him. That silent strength that he can rely on when his world is crashing down in on him. When his walls tumble, when his mooring is ripped from under his feet and he sinks like quicksand. Emotions choking the air from his lungs. She wants to be the hand that pulls him free. Wants to be the one who listens to his silence. Not because she's in love with him, but because she loves him.

She knows the difference now. One is fleeting, it burns brightly and either changes or extinguishes. Like water on a flame or transformed to golden light. There is no in between. And there is no redo button.

Only the holding pattern which eventually must end. The plane must land or crash. There is no eternal flight. Nothing can take back either consequence.

She has her list of factors. All of them neatly organized in her mind. But ultimately, he is the one who decides how this is resolved. Not because his decision holds more sway, but because his decision is the only one that still matters. She has given him control and she is content with whatever he decides.

She has already made her peace with it.

Meant to be alone.

She rests her head on his shoulder. Her body aches, and her mind is weary. She wants to sleep, but she does not want to miss these last moments with him. She's afraid she'll sleep through her happy ever after. This content place she shares with him. The most peace she has found in a long time.

And even with the inevitable knocking on her door, she finds that once more he has built a shelter around the two of them. Their own little island, secluded from everything else.

He leans his head against hers and she breathes deeply as he settles against her.

He knows.

He knows that he is going to leave her behind, that he has to. There are demons he must face alone, things he must do by himself. He can not take her with him on this road.

They were never meant to be. The time they had stolen. Taken at such a high cost to all of them.

Yet still his heart can't help but ache for her. Hope only for the best. Wish her every happiness.

When she rests her head on his shoulder, it reminds him of the good times. Of that dumb luck, selfish adoration. Of that feeling of falling and knowing no one would catch you. She reminds him of who he was, and who he became. Reminds him of days when every breath was counted and cataloged as the possible last.

He should hate her.

But he finds he can't.

Can't hate the one woman who made his new life possible. Can't hate the one woman who always understood without words. Can't hate the woman who made him believe again.

No, he couldn't hate one freckle on her face.

But being with her made it too easy to forget.

To settle into a comfortable life and forget everything that came before. She numbed the pain. She made him say things she had no right to hear. Things he had no right to tell her.

For three years he'd been set in a comfortable holding pattern, with a woman he never thought he'd love in that all consuming way. And in those three years he'd finally figured it out. Love didn't have to be violent or explosive. Sometimes it just was. He may have settled for Juliet in the beginning, but what he ended up having with her was so much more.

Which only led him to believe that maybe love was simply something he was never meant for. It seemed that every time he tried to land that plane, to break the holding pattern, he crashed in a fire filled furry of death and decay.

So he knew.

She had her own life to start over. Her own demons to face. Maybe one day their roads would cross again, but he doubted it. He was sure that these last moments would be the end for them.

So he held her hand tighter. Rested his head on hers.

He knew losing her this time would be no easier than the last, and that a part of his heart would always be hers. But he'd lived without her before. He could do it again. They had to. They belonged to other people still. They didn't belong to each other, never had.

Even if a small part of him might always wish the opposite. He understands all to well now. What loving two men must have been like for her. Because he will always love two women. But he can walk away and will. Because he made his choice, and even if she was gone now... Kate made her choice too.

He finds it ironic that they are finally both alone and there is no desire between them anymore.

He used to wonder if Juliet was right, if he only stayed because it was the right thing to do. He knows now that it wasn't. No longer has to tell himself not to look at Kate. She's changed into something better. Something he can be proud of. Something she never could have been if he'd been with her.

He knows she'll be alright without him. That she doesn't need him anymore. Doesn't need any man really. She's found that inner strength once more.

He knows, she knows that this is goodbye.

She knows now that she will burn every bridge that connects him to her.

Claire will not need her forever, and she will have to burn those bridges as well. It will be easier to start with bridges that were not so necessary to her immediate survival.

She knows he will want to meet his daughter eventually. She knows she can not have that temptation. The urge to cling to her past by clinging to his, she must eliminate it. It won't be easy, but it will be better than always wondering, always wanting to ask Cassidy if she'd heard from him. Continually waiting for some word.

She decides right then, that Cassidy and Clem will also be a part of her past.

It's time and as the plane shudders and moans as it's wheels touch down, she thinks that it is only fitting. As if it understands the inevitable conclusion and the whirling emotions in both of them and offers its sympathy as it too has broken free before.

He doesn't say anything as he stands, simply squeezes her hand for a long moment. His eyes don't meet hers because he can't. He has taken all he can from her, has given everything he has.

And so... he walks away.


End file.
